


And In the Aftermath

by Krimsonkitsu



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, apocalypse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krimsonkitsu/pseuds/Krimsonkitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can claim that I want to fix Charles Xavier, but we all know that's a lie…" <br/>Following the events in Washington, Erik must face a new crisis. One that threatens the few fragile bonds he has left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: When There Is No God, Who Will Hear Our Confessions?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik thinks back on his past with Charles Xavier and comes to grip with two painful truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prologue is written in first person, but if that puts you off, the remainder of the story won't be quite so limited. I just felt like it was important to get inside Erik's head. ...Well that and he was just really fun to write for. I hope you enjoy

~~~xXx~~~

I can claim that I want to fix Charles Xavier, but I think we all know that's a lie.

I am an instrument of death, of blood and revenge. A sword is a tool for destruction; it cannot create anything other than loss. I can hear him in my head, wistful and exasperated and even a bit fond: _A sword can be melted down, Erik, reshaped into a tool to build. You can be reshaped too—if you chose to._ I still hear his voice so clearly and there are times when I can't help but wonder if he'd found a way back in after all. There's a comfort in the idea, having him with me, still pleading for the better man he believed so strongly in. (I know better of course, his voice is nothing more than a weak echo, I severed that bond nearly a decade ago.) I also know the inescapable truth—metal can be reshaped, repurposed, molded into something completely new. Humans are far less malleable.

Not that you could ever convince him of that. If I am the sword, he is the hammer. His power is frightening in its potential; he could be a great weapon, a destructive force more terrifying than the bomb. And yet, he only seeks to construct, to bring together, to unite.

I cannot understand him. He, who sees the darkness in humanity more intimately than any other being, will lay down his life in their defense. I had warned him, years and years ago, that such idealism would destroy him in the end. I'd seen it time and time again—I saw it in the ghettos, in the eyes of our leaders, so blinded to the cruel intentions of our captors, I saw it in the trains, in the lies the passengers whispered into each other to shield themselves from their fate, I saw it in my father, right up until my sister was ripped from his hands and shot in the street (deemed too weak to complete the trip to a more systemic death.) Every being wants to believe in the good of humanity, despite all evidence to the contrary. They carry that belief with them like a talisman, like a prayer to blind themselves to reality. I have seen what comes of such beliefs, and I have abandoned faith—in God and in man.

Charles may have stumbled, may have chosen to hide in the darkness, to bury his head in the sand, but I never believed for a second that he would chose to abandon his faith. Men like him cannot waste their lives wallowing in self pity. He may fear the pain, the burden, the promise of future loss, but wallowing does not suit him. You do not leave a hammer out to rust, it is meant to be used.

I tell myself that I need him; he is the light, the unifying force that will draw our brothers and sisters from the shadows. If I intend to build an army, I need soldiers in my ranks. I tell myself that I must fix him for that reason. But that is a lie (we all know it is a lie) for two reasons:

I cannot lose my friend to the same darkness that consumed me.

And I cannot fix him.

~~~xXx~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Erik is a terrible house guest.


	2. Not Every Game of Chess Needs A Board

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the two opponents meet again in a different sort of game. But neither man is quite what the other remembers….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we go, I'm actually doing something that isn't just a one-shot character study, God help us all.

There was something incredibly cathartic about the rain. Charles sat outside, relishing the feeling of being completely and totally alone.

True, it was nice to have a full house of mutants once more—the sound of children and teachers echoing through the halls filled an ache that Charles hadn't even realized was there. If he let himself, he could almost forget that life had been any different.

Except that it had. Even after all those years, Charles would turn to speak with Raven, he still tried to rebuke Sean when yet another priceless artwork met a tragic end (and he could almost hear the boy's defense—"If you don't want your art destroyed you probably shouldn't have it out while we're training.") And he still set up the chessboard for a match that would never occur.

That was the foolish one; the act that truly spoke to his mental state, though only Hank would understand the significance of it. And if he had noticed Charles' late nights, staring at a chessboard that had no moves made, well… he never mentioned it.

Charles got to his feet, muscles sore and sluggish as he stepped out from under the protection of the patio. He didn't have long to enjoy his current state and he was not about to waste it sitting—there would be plenty of time for that. The drops hit his face in a torrent, stinging where they contacted bare skin. Charles laughed at the feeling, the sound lost in the sharp staccato of rain against the patio.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see a slight blue frame and a mop of red hair dancing in a rain shower long passed. He could still hear her squeals of delight as he chased her through the manicured lawns, colors bleached by the rain and the grey hue of twilight. He remembered her hand, gripping his tightly as they escaped into the woods, the trees closing in around them, filling their noses with the smell of wet pine. In that instant, it was easy to believe that there was nothing left in the world but the pair of them, the shroud of rain and the sanctuary of the branches that encircled them.

Charles actually laughed bitterly, how naive he had been. "Ah, Raven… I wanted so hard to be a good brother… How did I fail you so completely?" His voice was barely louder than the downpour around him. Not that it mattered. His question hadn't meant to be heard by anyone capable of responding... except some one had heard. And respond they did.

"The answer is simple, Charles. You chose humanity over her."

It couldn't be. Charles was certain that he was dreaming. It wouldn't be the first time he'd heard that voice in his head. It seemed to be a favorite of his conscience, whenever it chose to torment him over his many failings in the past years.

"Oh, Erik. Leave me be. I have no patience for ghosts right now. Torment me some other night," he said, dismissing the voice with a wave of his hand.

"Would you rather me come visit you in the hospital while you die of pneumonia?" The response was exceedingly wry and much louder than before, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of footfalls on stone.

Charles' eyes snapped open and for a moment, he worried that he'd finally lost his mind. Because the man before him shouldn't be there. And yet, there he stood, dressed not in his garish costume, but in a soft black turtleneck and well-worn khakis, looking so familiar that, for a moment, Charles could forget about everything that happened. His eyes were still striking, peering out from under the shelter of his umbrella. Charles hesitated, unsure of what the protocol was in this situation was. 

"Do I need to sound the alarm?" He asked softly, even as he backed into the patio and giving Erik space to do the same. The metal-bender did so without hesitation, shaking off his umbrella before snapping it shut.

"Relax, Charles. I'm not here for any official purpose." Erik hooked the umbrella on the railing and sat down at the patio table, gesturing for Charles to do the same. Charles paused for a moment, frowning at him as he tried to discern what motives hid behind that achingly familiar smirk. Finally, he sighed and sat down, doing his best to camouflage the weakness in his limbs (as it was, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get back up without help.) But if Erik noticed, he didn't mention it. Instead, he crossed his legs, his head resting on a cradle of his fingers as he surveyed Charles.

"You should have called," Charles said after a tense pause, pushing the wet straggles of hair form his eyes. He wanted desperately to look anywhere else, but doing so would have been a surrender. They were playing a new sort of game, it seemed, and Charles refused to be backed into a corner.

"Why?" Came the flat response, and Charles couldn't read the ulterior meaning behind it. He simply seemed curious.

"I would have brought out the board," Charles shrugged. "We could have had ourselves a game."

Erik's brow raised. "The last time I suggested a game, you punched me."

Charles smiled despite himself. "You seemed to bounce back just fine."

"I've had worse," came the glib reply. They fell back into silence, each regarding the other, sizing up their opponent. Charles leaned on the arm of his chair, his fingers pressed against his temple in an all too familiar gesture.

"You forgot your helmet," he commented.

Erik's expression darkened and he leaned forward, his hands clenching on the table between them. "It appears that I don't need it," he replied, his jaw set in anger. "You decided to take the coward's way out after all. To hide away from your gifts, for what? Are you that scared of your potential?"

"Yes."

Erik stiffened, not expecting Charles to answer so quickly. His eyes narrowed, looking for any sign of trickery. But Charles just sat in front of him, composed and as unreadable as marble. He was different from the broken man that had freed him from the Pentagon, but he was certainly not the man who had fished him from the water all those years ago.

"Fool," he finally replied, venom in his voice as he sat back in his chair, disgust building in his chest. "How can you hope to guide the future of our people when you refuse to embrace your own power?"

Charles just smiled faintly, but there was a shift in his eyes, a pain that Erik couldn't place. "I cannot guide anyone if I cannot escape my own mind," he said softly. "Erik… please… sit down."

The other man blinked. When did he stand up? What did he intend to do to his old ally? Hit him? Comfort him? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could feel a weak tendril of Charles' power, a mere echo of the calming presence that had filled his mind so many times before. It was so fleeting that Erik wondered if he was simply imagining it.

He opened his eyes to see that familiar apologetic smile. "You're right, Erik," he said after a long pause. "I am the worst kind of hypocrite. For all of my pretty words, all my carefully built ideals… I couldn't help those in my care. I couldn't help Sean, or Raven… and I couldn't save you. I couldn't pull you out of your own hatred. For all my lessons on control, I couldn't find the serenity to reign in my own power." His hand clutched at the arm of his chair. "I hid when those I cared about were experimented on, hunted, and killed. I am the worst kind of mutant. But perhaps I can be a better man, not paralyzed by the pain and fear of others, not paralyzed by my own body."

Silence greeted the end of his words. In the pause, the roar of the storm raged, pounding against the patio as though demanding attention from the two men.

"Not acceptable," Erik finally snapped. "The man I know would not hide behind guilt."

"Oh, Erik," Charles said softly, his face a stranger to the man before him. "I am not the man you knew."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Erik isn't the only one who likes to drop in unannounced


	3. When Faced With Death, Only Canaries Sing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out Erik isn't the only one who can mount a surprise visit. But when Raven comes to call, Erik is stunned by the news she carries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye writer's block! I really enjoyed the set up I had for this story, but for the longest time I couldn't decide on a plot. Finally I was able to settle down on the vision for the future chapters. I may be a bit rusty, so bear with me.

Erik was never the type to discount anything. Life as an outcast, as both the hunter and the hunted had taught him never to dismiss any scenario, no matter how absurd it seemed. Complacency made you blind, complacency is what got you killed. He had learned this lesson at a very young age and it was this mentality that had kept him sharp, had kept him alive. 

So the most surprising thing about Raven’s visit was how very much it had managed to surprise him. To be fair to the man, he had tried to kill her not too long ago, so it made sense that she would want little to do with him, no matter what past they had shared.

The night she came to visit was so very different than the night when Erik had decided to hold a surprise visit of his own. The scenery was quite different as well. Gone were the sprawling lawns, the graceful architecture and tasteful accents, instead this meeting would take place on the roof of an apartment long past it’s prime. Even in the open air, the scent of mold wafted from the building, tainting the otherwise pristine night. Gone were the thick angry clouds, the thunderous rain, and instead the moon overlooked a cloudless night sky, its rays bathing everything in delicate light. Raven could not have picked a more perfect night to visit. The only question was… why? 

Erik pondered the question thoughtfully, even before he had made it clear that he was aware of her presence. Mystique was famed for her stealth, but Raven… he had trained with her, had fought with her. She would never sneak up on him. He didn’t acknowledge her at first, he simply remained seated on the roof, eyes fixed on the river as it flowed past the building on its way to the sea, not more than a mile away. The moonlight danced along the waters, creating a poor facsimile of the night sky opposing it.

The shingles creaked as Raven sat down beside him, her golden eyes incandescent, even in the darkness around them. Apparently she wasn’t eager to start the conversation either. That was okay, for a moment, Erik could pretend that Paris had never happened, that they were still on the same side. Except he had no idea what side that might be anymore. 

“You’re a hard man to track.” Her voice was soft, carefully casual. Was it out of fear? Or penance? Erik wasn’t sure. He doubted that she would actually want to return to him, she’d made her position on the matter clear when she’d shot him in the neck. Still, what other reason did she have to be here?

“I’m here about Charles.”

Ah. There it was. Not for the first time, Erik wondered if she hadn’t picked up a few tricks from the telepath. 

“What about him?” He asked, his eyes still locked on the river.  
“You must know, you went to visit him two weeks ago.” Her voice was calm, certain, and Erik knew better than to deny her statement.

“What should I know? That the fool sacrificed the powers he was blessed with, just so that he could walk again?” Even after two weeks, the bitterness and disbelief hadn’t left Erik. Of all the things that Charles had done, the act of suppressing his powers felt more like a betrayal than anything else. He chose to join the side of the humans. 

Raven was quiet, but Erik could feel her gaze on him. He finally turned back to face her, surprised by the confusion and disappointment he found in her eyes. 

“…You think that’s what it is?” She asked softly. “He threw away his powers to be able to walk?”

“Didn’t he?” 

Another pause.

“You really haven’t noticed, have you?” Raven’s voice seemed almost awed by the realization, though Erik didn’t have the faintest idea why. 

“What are you talking about?” He asked, cutting to the point. Even talking about his old friend was just as cryptic as his conversations with the man. 

“He’s been dreaming, Erik.” She finally replied. 

“Yes, I’m sure he has. Don’t we all?” Erik couldn’t help but be snide. Not that he would know much about dreams, not when he avoided sleep for the majority of his life. Raven sighed and shook her head, exasperation clear in her voice.

“You don’t get it, Erik. Charles Xavier has been dreaming about the end of the world, and, more and more mutants are dreaming right along with him.” Raven’s hands twisted in her lap. “He’s taking the serum to suppress those dreams, to spare the rest of us from seeing them, but… it’s not enough. His powers are growing stronger, even without Cerebro, he’s connected to hundreds of mutants and every night, more are sharing his vision.”

The sound of cicadas filled the silence that had opened like a chasm between them. Around them, the world went on, oblivious to the two perched on the roof. The river flowed, its waters lapping against the banks surrounding it. The night air rustled through the branches, and every so often, the rattle of a truck could be heard in the distance. Below them came the muffled, recycled laughter that emanated from a resident’s television. Everything seemed so normal, it felt so easy to dismiss Raven’s warning. 

But Erik wasn’t the kind to dismiss anything. 

“…Suppose you are right, Raven,” he finally replied softly. “What would you have me do?”

Raven’s answer was so prompt that Erik had no doubt she had been expecting this question from the moment she had sought him out.

“Isn’t it obvious, Erik? I want you to help him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this chapter, I'm saying goodbye to just about every established part of X-Men Apocalypse. We are firmly in AU territory now, boys and girls! Feel free to drop a comment or two? Did you love it? Hate it? Doesn't matter, let me know how I can improve/what you would like to see in future chapters--I'm always open to suggestions.
> 
> Next up: If Charles is going to play the role of doomsday prophet, he really should ditch the loafers.


	4. A Burden Shared is Not a Burdened Halved.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is visited once more by visions of the end of the world, but even those sharing in his nightmares don't realize their full extent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know... I go from not posting in two years to posting twice in one day... I wish I understood how my brain worked. Anyway please enjoy.

Fire. Why did it always have to be fire? Charles always had a difficult relationship with fire, ever since he was a child and—no. Best not to think about that now, not when his mind was already so troubled. It was always jarring, every night he broke free from the visions of an all consuming blaze, from the voices crying out for help, for their loved ones, for salvation, only to find himself in his plush, deceptively serene bedroom. Nothing was changed; he was the only thing in the room disturbed, the only thing out of place. With a shaky sigh, Charles scrubbed at his face with his hands, trembling fingers attempting to wipe away the sweat that tangled his hair and ran down his face in thick rivulets. He could still hear voices, though they were different than the ones that haunted his dreams, these voices were still frightened, but there was still a healthy mix of confusion thrown in. They didn’t understand why they kept dreaming the same nightmare; they didn’t understand their repeated occurrence and they certainly couldn’t trace it back to the telepath shivering in his secluded manor in Upstate New York. 

Well, not all of them could, but some were all too aware. Every so often, Charles felt just a glimmer of Raven’s presence, but it was usually gone before Charles could reach out to her, to reassure and soothe her just as he had done so often in their childhood. He never felt Erik, not that he was surprised by this. Erik was likely on the other side of the world by now, and he had made a long and storied career out of keeping Charles out. Besides, gauging by the disgusted look and the rapid retreat he had beaten at their last meeting, Charles could reasonably guess that Erik wasn’t keen on rekindling any sort of connection between the two of them. What had he spat out at Charles as he left? Ah that’s right: “A filthy coward and a traitor to your own kind.” No, Erik wouldn’t be in the picture anytime soon. He believed, just as so many others did, that Charles had thrown away his powers willingly, had voluntarily resigned his status as a mutant, and all for a pair of working legs. It wasn’t such a leap, Charles supposed, especially given that he had done exactly that in the not too distant past. Of course, there was at least one mutant who knew the truth. 

“Professor?” He felt the pair of hand gripping onto his arm tightly, as though to wrench him back into reality. “Charles?”

Charles pulled his hands from his face to see the all too familiar face wearing that all too familiar worry, peering down at him. Hank McCoy looked just as bad as Charles felt, his skin too pale and his hair mussed from thrashing around in his bed. His robe was askew, hastily thrown on over his pajamas no doubt as he had awoken with a start. Charles felt a guilty pang at the thought and his gaze turned apologetic. 

“Again?” 

Hank nodded, pulling out a small black case. His hands were still trembling slightly even as he began assembling the syringe. “Ah… I think you’re building up a tolerance to the serum…” he said, his attention focused on the task at hand. 

“Can we up the dosage?” Charles asked, shifting himself into a more upright position. His legs were sluggish, a clear sign that his body was burning through the dosage faster than expected… as if the nightmares weren’t enough of a red flag. He had never expected the act of losing feeling to hurt as much as it did, prior to Cuba. His rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to expose a pockmarked vein, the years of stabbing himself with hypodermics had not been kind. Once his left arm was ready, his right arm went to work, massaging his legs in a vain attempt to rub out the pins and needles working his way down his legs. He already knew the answer to his question, but Hank appeared to be in a gracious mood and humored him regardless.

“You’re already taking a pretty concentrated dose,” Hank said, rapping the butt of the syringe against the heel of his hand. “If I increase it any more, we could be putting your health at risk…” He deflated a bit at the look Charles gave him, both men knew this wasn’t about escaping his powers, not this time. The dreams were bad enough, but the fact that Charles could project them, consciously or not, was a worrying first step. What happens when his powers managed to take a deeper root in the minds of other mutants? The thought was a terrifying one. 

“I’ll start working on creating a new formulary. That should give us more time.” Hank sat down beside Charles, the syringe perched in his fingers. 

“Thank you, Hank.” Charles held out his arm, bracing himself for the sting of the needle and the uncomfortable heat as the medicine invaded his system. It felt more like poison, winding its way through his veins as it circulated through his body, restoring his legs but suppressing his mutation. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, but it certainly beat infecting who knows how many mutants with visions of a fiery demise. 

This time didn’t feel any better either. Charles grit his teeth as Hank slowly deposited the contents of his syringe into Charles’ bloodstream. Charles leaned back against the bedframe, his eyes closed as he steeled himself against the sensations brought on by the medicine. Hard to believe he ever enjoyed this feeling. 

“How many?” He asked after a few minutes, his eyes still closed. Beside him, he could hear Hank disassembling the syringe before the soft sound of the zipper signaled that everything was safe and secure, ready for the next night’s dose.  
Hank didn’t have to ask what Charles meant, not anymore. 

“I think most of the students were spared,” he replied. “I did a quick sweep of the dorms and it seemed pretty quiet. Whatever’s happening, at least we can be grateful it’s not affecting children. But beyond that… you probably have a better guess than I do.”

“Yes, at least I can rest easy, knowing that I haven’t tormented tomorrow’s brightest…” Charles gave a wan smile at that, though his brow was furrowed with discomfort. “I didn’t feel as many voices when I woke up. Perhaps whatever this is has peaked.” 

“Perhaps.” Hank’s tone was doubtful, and Charles was certain that he was merely playing along. Neither did Charles care. 

Hank paused, clearly debating whether or not to just call it a night or to ask some question that had clearly plagued him from the moment he’d awoken Charles. They sat in silence, Charles fighting through the initial effects of his injection and Hank—ever the scientist—working over the past few months in his head. 

“Charles?”

“Yes?”

“Was there anything different about the dream?” Hank was waiting for the bemused look and Charles did not disappoint.

“Why are you asking me? You’ve seen them all as well.” He snorted, body finally uncoiling, relaxing as the medicine took hold. “As far as I can tell, they’ve all been the same. Just… fire… fire and death….”

“Right, but…” Hank hesitated once more. “Tonight, I thought I saw something different.” 

“Something different?” There was a strange look in Charles’ eyes as he surveyed the scientist, his arms folded neatly in his lap. 

“Well… It’s hard to explain.” Hank ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “For just a moment, I could have sworn that’d I’d seen someone… A face, I think.” 

“A face?” Charles seemed surprised at that. “Did you recognize it?” 

“I don’t think so… I mean I barely caught a glimpse of it… maybe I just imagined the whole thing.” Hank shrugged. It was very possible that he had in fact imagined it. He had been starved for any clues that might help put a stop to this mess once and for all. For his sake, for Charles’ sake, and for the sake of countless other mutants who had unwittingly joined them into these ventures into a dying world. 

Charles, even robbed of his telepathy, could pick up on Hank’s frustration. He couldn’t blame the man, Hank had never really enjoyed doping up his old friend, especially now that Charles was a far less eager participant. More than that, the lack of sleep had to be affecting him, just as it was affecting Charles. Charles shook his head, his gaze softening into one of pity. 

“I’m afraid I didn’t see anything.” He said softly. Hank let out a great huff and shrugged, glancing out of the window. The sun hadn’t broken over the horizon, but the steel colored sky heralded that it wouldn’t be long. No way was Hank going back to sleep today.

“Ah well… It’s almost daybreak… might as well see if I can’t make any headway on that new serum.” He rolled his shoulders a bit before getting to his feet. “If you remember anything else, you’ll let me know, right?”

“You’ll be the first,” Charles said, sinking back down into the warm embrace of his bed, the room spinning around him. The soft thunk of the door signaled Hank’s departure and it was only then that Charles felt the worry fall away from him like a weight. 

He never relished the thought of lying to his most loyal companion, but for now Hank was better off not knowing. It would do him no good. Or at least, that is what the telepath told himself. Charles stared up at the ornate blades of ceiling fan that swung in a lazy circle, eyes glazed as he considered his true motives. By repeating the words that he’d heard whispered in his mind after every dream, Charles would be giving them a corporeal voice. No longer would they exist solely in the dreamscape, a fragment readily tossed aside, dismissed in the light of morning. They would be real, with terrifying consequences that Charles just wasn’t ready to deal with yet. And so he would continue to lie to Hank, and to himself. But no matter what he told himself, he couldn’t escape the reality of it.

Charles closed his eyes, nausea rising in his chest as the words repeated over and over in his head, like a twisted mantra. 

_“Not yet, my child… but soon…. Soon…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Erik proposes that Charles should take advantage of his old skill set.


	5. The Importance of Being Thorough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets in the game. Well, more like barges right in, but at this point, should Charles expect any differently?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Exposition, Batman! Wait. Wrong universe... 
> 
> Seriously though, there's a lot of talking on this scene. Hopefully it's enjoyable enough to make up for all the set up.. There will definitely be more action in the next chapters, so please bear with me while we slog through the meat and potatoes of the story.

Charles might have been surprised by Erik’s appearance on the front steps of the manor, but Hank clearly wasn’t. Charles looked at the scientist, eyes narrowing slightly. Hank, to his credit, didn’t falter under the scrutiny.

“Raven called me,” Hank said with a uncomfortable shrug. “We er… we keep in touch.” 

Charles glanced back between Hank and the man currently standing before him, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. Erik had shed the cape, the helmet, the very trappings that defined his existence as Magneto. Whatever he was doing here, he wasn’t doing it as the founder of the Brotherhood. There could only be one reason for his sudden reappearance. Charles smiled wanly as the realization struck him, Raven… so he had been right in sensing her presence those nights. Of course she would act, seeing what she’d seen, he certainly couldn’t blame her. But there was one thing he didn’t understand— 

“Why me?” Erik asked, a knowing smirk ghosting over his lips as Charles’ eyes widened. “You had the question written all over your face. I don’t need telepathy to read you like a novel, old friend.”

Charles couldn’t help but chuckle at that, a bit of the tension leeching from his shoulders. Amazing, how quickly they could both fall back into the old familiar routine, even after a decade of separation. “Yes, well… what was it you called me on our last meeting—‘A coward and a traitor’? I hadn’t expected to see you anytime soon.” He tone was polite enough, but Erik caught the well-placed barb.

Erik gaze didn’t falter, but his eyes held just the slightest hint of apology. “I didn’t know then what I know now.” He waited expectantly for a moment before his brows raised. “So are you going to invite me in, or should we just talk here on the front lawn?”

“… Hank? Make sure everyone’s taken care of while Erik and I get situated. I don’t want cause a scene.” Hank hesitated at Charles’ request, shooting Erik a look of distrust before turning smartly on his heel and going to check on the students. 

“’A scene?’” Erik couldn’t help but smirk at that, and the corner of Charles’ lips curled upward. 

“…You can’t deny that you don’t have a certain… notoriety… given your past exploits.”

“No, I can’t deny that.” Erik leaned back against the stone fixture that adored the entrance, glancing over the carefully manicured landscape. “But your students have nothing to fear from me, you know that.”

“Do I?” The words slipped out before he could reign it in. With no way to take it back now, Charles forged ahead. “You will hurt anyone that stands in the way of your vision, be it human or mutant... They’ve seen that part of you, Erik, we all have. I warned you a long time ago that violence will do nothing but hurt your cause in the end. It is a hard reputation to escape once you’ve earned it. Your own kind fears you.”

“They fear me, because they don’t understand the consequences I am trying to save them from. If I fail, they will have much worse to fear.” Erik shrugged, though it was far from nonchalant. 

“Everyone’s settled in.” Hank’s voice interrupted, just as Charles was about to retort, which was probably just as well. They’d had this argument countless times in the past, with no conclusion. No, there were far more pressing concerns. 

“After you,” Charles said, gesturing to the door. “Do you still know the way?” Erik just snorted, walking down the halls with confidence. Though he could never admit it, and certainly not to the telepath at his side, this was the only home he had left. As if every corrider, every room would not be etched into mind forever. Sure, some things had changed, sitting rooms had been converted into classrooms and bedrooms had been reorganized into dorms. But underneath it all, the old manor still existed, was still familiar. 

The study was even more so and the smell of it wrapped around Erik like a warm embrace. He looked around, taking a moment to absorb everything, the books, the richly upholstered chairs, the chess board that still lay on the table by the fireplace.. It was hard to believe that more than a decade had passed since Erik had last laid eyes on this place. The room itself seemed a sanctuary, a place to escape all that had happened outside of these walls. Charles gave him a lopsided smile and moved towards his favored chair. Erik had never quite understood how Charles had decided which chair to claim. To his estimation, the pair of them were identical in every discernable way. 

“Yes well… what can I say? I like tradition.” Charles said, tapping his forehead and winking before settling down with a strange stiffness to his motions. Erik, about to question how Charles could skim his thoughts while still on the serum, was distracted by grimace that marred the man’s face as he sat. Erik’s gaze moved down to the man’s legs, to the way his hands gripped at them, knuckles shining through his skin. Charles caught his look, and nodded ruefully. “Yes, it hurts. It always hurts nowadays. I’m growing immune to the serum, and so the effects of it are lessening daily.”

Erik sat down and across from him, leaning against the arm of his chair as he settled in as well. Charles’ comments were as good of a lead in as any and he’d rather think about the problems of the present rather than dwell on the old guilt of the past. 

“Raven contacted me not long ago, Charles.” He said, watching how Charles seemed to perk up at the name. “She told me about the dreams and she said that you’re the one behind it. Is that why you started taking the serum again? To try and stop it?” 

“Yes.” Charles considered him for a bit, blue eyes piercing as he rested his chin on the pyramid of his fingers. “I can’t explain it, but my powers are growing, expanding beyond what I can control. Something is causing a massive uptick in my abilities. No matter what I take, I can’t suppress them for much longer. ”

Erik paused, eyes fixated on the table before him as he considered the news. “You don’t know what’s giving you these dreams? Surely they’re connected to this surge in your powers.” 

“Perhaps… or they are just a consequence of my mind, playing out its fear over this change.” Charles pointed out, voice calm. Erik always hated this habit of his, the ability he had of distancing himself from the problem, talking about death (even his own) as if it was nothing more than an interesting thought exercise. If Erik didn’t know better, he would have thought the man had never had to face his own mortality, to be able to speak of death so nonchalantly. Except he did know better.   
With a frown, Erik forced himself to turn back to the conversation, to the matter at hand. Charles wanted to think that he was the source of his nightmares? That’s fine, but there was one glaring problem.

“How can you be certain one way or the other?” Erik asked. 

“I can’t.” Another rueful laugh from Charles. “I hope that these dreams are just a manifestation of my own insecurities, but… truly I don’t know.”

“Then we can’t rule out anything.” Erik said, parroting Charles from years past. “Not until we know the facts.”

Charles’ grin widened almost sardonically. “Ah… and they say you never learned anything from me.” At the look Erik gave him, his smile withered and he just shook his head. “Honestly Erik… what would you have me do? For that matter, why are you even here? Last I checked, you were neither a telepath nor a licensed psychiatrist.”

“You’re right.” He shook his head and folded his hands neatly in his lap. “But I do offer certain skill sets that you can’t find in the phonebook.”

Charles sent him a scouring look and Erik laughed. “I don’t mean those kinds of skills. There are a lot of talents that one acquires when singlehandedly tracking down a Nazi scientist and his associates, and not all of them are bloody.” He waved a dismissive hand before continuing. “I have a lot of connections, spread out across five continents. I know how to ask the right questions to the right people, and I know exactly what buttons I need to push to get answers.”

“Erik—“

“This isn’t just about you,” Erik cut him off smoothly. “We don’t know what is going on and it is affecting a great number of our brothers and sisters. For now, we are on the same side.” 

“’For now.’” Charles repeated, lips thinning. He shrugged after what seemed like an eternity. “If you think you can find answers, I won’t stop you. But Erik?”

Erik couldn’t help but smile a bit knowingly, even without telepathy, it wasn’t hard to guess what Charles would say next. “Yes?”

“Try not to leave a body count on this one, eh?” The request was serious, but there was just the hint of twinkle in his gaze. 

“For you, my friend, I will try to keep the bloodshed to the absolute minimum.”

The look Charles gave him spoke volumes. “You know…You never were a convincing liar.”

Erik couldn’t help but laugh and after a pause, Charles joined him. And for just a moment, it felt like it did in the early days. 

But only for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Erik barely holds up his end of the promise. 
> 
> Bonus: The only think more annoying than Charles chewing you out over the phone is having him chew you out in your head.


End file.
